Man only pretends to grow

Because the world wants him to grow.

Deep inside, he remains the child,

Which only a compassionate heart

Can comprehend its real meaning.

 

Very often, he conjures up memories

Of those childhood days, for, explorer of

A humanity beyond and below

The reigning civilization, he loves

The closely-knit fabric of past,

Present and future,however unimaginable.

 

Most men are not prepared to lose their souls

To gain the world, for the world as it is

Is not worth suffering for,

A worthless mess of potage.

Those who have grown understand it not

And those who haven’t do so.

 

When life becomes a comedy of errors

Or a tragedy of terrors,

They seek refuge in that secret niche

Where a tango changes into a polka

And a polka into a vodka

Under a sky simple and yet sublime.

 

Let time slip away from your fingers,

Gently and smoothly and yet, lose not

That child in your heart.

The early mariners who crossed

The terrific waters always thought

Of the beautiful lullabies  their

Mothers had once sung to them softly.

Being the child creates magic in miracles

And miracles in the magic of life.

 

pramila khadun